Mummy's Speech

I shared this song with everyone before I spoke at the memorial service to recognise Max's due date.



Here is what I said.

Everything that ever was or could have been culminated in the moment that my little child drew his first breath, gasping as if he’d emerged from a joyful dive under the sea. He didn’t open his eyes, but who could blame him? How could the surgical sights of a delivery room, no matter how dim and mood-enhancing the lights, compare with what he’d seen in his fetal Atlantis?

Afterwards I was glad he’d held them closed shut against the intrusions to his dream life. He was in this world but not of it; a creature so serene because he would never have to confront the traumas and disappointments of this world like the rest of us.

He emerged with a determined heartbeat, and a hearty breath, but with no other earthly concerns or responsibilities to weigh him down. He was all lightness, and I held him as if he was a butterfly that’d landed briefly upon my hand; one I knew would fly away should I make the slightest move. He was the most longed-for visitor. He might have travelled light, but he left me with a heavy heart as the beginning of his legacy. His end was my beginning. The beginning, as I’m realising, of all things.

Almost four months have gone by since Max was here. I do not know where the time has gone, and I have no real memory of where I’ve been or what I’ve done since then. It’s all just hazy – as is my sense of the world, its promises and its betrayals, all of which, until recently, I thought I understood.

As it turns out, I don’t. I don’t understand a thing. The song I just played, of which I’m sure you are all so familiar, summed it up more eloquently than I could ever hope to. When Joni Mitchell sang ‘I really don’t know life – at all’, well, I finally get what she meant; that any control, or certainty over life or love we think we have is only an illusion.

This realisation, that I am ultimately powerless, has been so hard to accept. What I would give to once again be ignorantly under the misapprehension that I could avoid or mitigate disaster by ‘doing the right thing’. I’ve spent my whole life doing the right thing only to find that it has afforded me no such protections. My son still died. Other people’s sons did not. And I feel ripped off, and angry, and bitter, and jealous and just plain murderous some days. I am a Moran after all. On other days I feel immensely calm, at peace, grateful for the powerful lessons Max taught me and hopeful that I will live a richer, more rewarding life for having known him.

Today I long for Max in all the ways you would imagine of someone who has had a baby born and snatched away in an instant. This week has been immensely challenging as his due date signifies an end to all of my illogical beliefs that he might be reborn. My very-catholic grandmother would be relieved that I’m still harboring closet fantasies of divine resurrection. My psychiatrist might not be.

Max is not coming back, though, is he?I know that. But he will never truly be gone whilst I still live either. That’s why I go on, even when I think I can’t. Like the song just said, there’s something lost, but something also gained in simply living every day.

I wrote Max a poem. I want him to hear it today, but it means you’ll have to forgive me whilst I also inflict it on you. I may be a decent writer but I’m a pitiful poet. Lucky you’re my friends, huh?

It’s called To Max, with Love.

When you were born I saw the sun.
It shone so briefly, then was done.
I didn’t get to be your mum;
You had to go away.

And now under the dark, black clouds,
I’m on the street shouting out loud
Your name, my darling, which makes me proud.
Won’t you come back to me today?

My arms they ache to hold you tight,
To wrap you up, so warm at night
To touch your face in the morning light,
As if you were mine to stay.

My baby, are you now at rest?
Do you lay your head on mummy’s chest?
Nothing would make her feel so blessed;
Would make everything okay.

I cry because, oh no, at last,
Hope of your return has gone; it’s passed.
The time, it’s gone so very fast.
I didn’t get a say.

Bring me a season, one that’s warm,
To help to heal my heart’s fierce storm.
Send me a rainbow; hope reborn.
Help me find a way.

I look for you in starry skies,
Each night before I close my eyes.
You’ll always be my lucky prize.
You’re safe, now, where you lay.